


Cohesion

by Hyoushin



Series: blue winter roses [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguity, Canon Related, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 06, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyoushin/pseuds/Hyoushin
Summary: “I wished I could find you.”





	Cohesion

This is where it all began.

He examines Winterfell. It is sad, empty, and ravaged. Childhood memories crash against the reality before his eyes.

His life made turns he did not expect. Jon never thought he would be able to return to this place. A place he called home, even if at times it did not felt as such due to his status; an indelible brand which divided him from his family.

He looks at Sansa, a trueborn Stark, a daughter who inherited her lady mother’s bearing and beauty. Her behavior discloses that she has endured torment and sorrow, but decorum and civility are the pillars which hold her up and keep her stable. Her statuesque figure remains at the center, embedded in snow and surrounded by ghosts, and yet, she seems untouched by it all—a perfect lady through and through. It is what shields her, he supposes. For him, however, the vast desolation stretching far and wide on all sides seeps into his mind, watering the worst aspect of his nature. He cannot pretend he is unaffected. Ire threatens to char his soul.

She must be having similar thoughts.

 _Once we shared this castle_ , he muses, _it is strange to dwell in it again with her as my only remaining family._ There is too much room within their home and their combined melancholy, their silent distrust, and the resentment they nurture might be what fills most of it. Time and circumstance have altered them both, this making Jon wonder if there is something that could bridge the distance weakening their relationship. He recalls how close they were to getting back a piece of their shattered House. A decisive arrow put an end to that possibility. Failure always tasted foul.

He is tempted to disappear. Danger he does not fear. As someone who was torn from the threshold of Death, he feels he does not belong even more than before. If he could wither alone, he would. Despite the wild beliefs of a woman swathed in red, he is just a man borrowing life, waiting to be drawn back into the netherworld. But his old attachment to this place (Robb and Theon spar with him, Lord Stark supervises them from afar, Bran climbs over a parapet, Rickon plays with Shaggy, Sansa fights with Arya, and _Arya_ , _she_ —) ignites sentiment that blends with a frozen sense of duty; the result immobilizes him.

Another piece can be recovered. The realization diminishes the gloom. Startled, he stares at his hands when he feels it, the strength of a new purpose revitalizing the entirety of his marred self.

He decides to await her here.

Because this is where it all began and where it may end.

**.**

Winter lingers as they rebuild and restructure, trying to bring back a semblance of their Winterfell while reinforcing it with brand-new stones. It will never be same, the Winterfell they were familiar with perished alongside Lord Eddard. But even with the constant difficulties their people face, the castle and its environs welcome the slow transformation which marks the rebirth of their land. Sansa Stark took charge, it is what occupies most of her time.

“And I keep searching,” Jon murmurs. _I got tired of waiting._ Sometimes, he can hear Bran’s voice in his dreams. It tranquilizes him to know that he is safe. Arya, however, her faint image only visits him during unstable daydreams. Many a year has passed since the last time he saw her. She, a slip of a girl who was repelled by the mere notion of being a lady. He preserves the moment as it happened, but he fears he has forgotten the true sound of her voice, most of her expressions, how it was to be around her. It saddens him.

Tormund has called him a fool. Jon has even been chastised by Sansa. “She might not be—it’d be wiser to let her go and spare ourselves the pain,” permutations of that sentence he has heard often, but he continues to seek a girl who got lost in the midst of disorder and strife. His heart lacks the will to give up this folly.  For he is certain he can still salvage something of value amid the ruins of his yesteryear. So he searches relentlessly, stumbling upon traces of a life sketched in hearsay.

The first rays of sunlight delineate the horizon as an odd but warm feeling seizes him. It urges him to return. He looks ahead and encounters the red eyes of Ghost trained on him. Ghost, as always, understands. The direwolf takes off first, melding himself with the snow till he turns into a white blur that vanishes from his line of sight. 

Jon frowns, spurring his horse to a gallop.

Time to head towards home.

**.**

At seeing nothing unusual Jon slows to a trot. He is relieved as he passes through the gate. The sun has risen and with it the inhabitants of the castle as well.  Some servants salute him as he rides towards the courtyard. A stable boy offers to care for his exhausted mount, he accedes with a nod and saunters the rest of the way, leaving boot-prints in the ever-present snow.

He halts at encountering the scene playing a few feet from him. Ghost has arrived first, as he intended. But he looks overjoyed as he chases another creature of the same species—a direwolf exhibiting golden eyes and dark fur. “Jon.” The mention of his name diverts him from what is occurring in the vicinity. It is Sansa. The white of her eyes and her cheeks have almost turned red like her hair. She has been crying for a reason unknown to him.

Sansa gestures to the girl—or is it a woman?—beside her. Sansa smiles. It is a smile he has not ever seen on her, for it is full of a radiance which has melted all the ice in her countenance. She opens her lips to speak but closes them again; an explanation refusing to come out. And when the stranger walks up to him and removes the hood concealing her identity, all manner of communication fails him too.

 _Life_ is what he sees, she contains so much life in her, life that shines through her eyes. “Arya?” he mumbles. _Gods be good, let it be real._ He becomes paralyzed at the sight of the woman she has grown into. She is whole and healthy. Her hands come up to touch his face, forming a cradle with callused palms to hold him. She has the hands of a fighter, he notices. “I wished I could find you.” His voice is rough with unburied emotion. “If rumors are to be believed, you or someone like you has been sighted here and there but you were always good at hiding.”

“You wanted me to come back.” She stated. “I heard.”

“Have you come back for good?” he asks because he needs to. She must have met many people, seen, and been to other places. _Will she stay?_ She attained what she had longed for in her girlhood—the freedom of being whatever she wanted to be. The thought of her giving him a negative answer sows uneasiness in his mind. Not one person has the capability of constraining someone as defiant as Arya Stark. It is impossible.

“I’m not how I once was. The little girl…she’s gone I’m afraid.” She lowers her gaze as if expecting disappointment from him.  

 _The green boy I once was is gone too,_ he nearly says, _you’ll have no disappointment from me._

 “Aye, that much is obvious. You _are_ wearing a dress, to begin with,” he chooses to jest and that gets him a lightning-fast punch to the chest. Jon grins, he might have made a good choice. “Well, a dress hasn’t made you any less of a menace, that’s for sure.”

“Of course not, don’t be stupid, Jon.” She throws another punch, a little less painful but just as fast. _It feels real enough. It must be,_ Jon hopes.

“But blame Sansa for the dress.” Arya turned around slightly to glower at her sister. Sansa responds with a saccharine giggle and Arya’s glower deepens. “I came, I found her first and she said you were out and that I _stank_! She then proceeded to scrub my skin raw, burn all the clothes I had on me, force me to wear _this_ ,” she looks down at her body and shudders, “thing, and only after that we hugged like sisters would normally do when they haven’t seen each other for a long time.”

“You hugged Sansa? Can that be true?” Jon teases, his delight and amusement pouring out of him.

“Do not judge me. I had to.” Arya shrugs, averting her eyes while looking charmingly shy all of a sudden.

Jon realizes he has been staring at her. The dress she wears is charcoal gray in color, the particular shade provides a pleasing contrast to the paleness of her skin, and its clear-cut design emphasizes the womanly curves of her body. Yet it does not veil her palpable fortitude and poise. Jon, at least, can recognize that whenever it is before him. At long last, his unintentional scrutiny is concluded with one final term— _special_.

She has fought. She has survived. She is alive.

_She has always been special._

“Sansa gets hugged and I get punched? Is that the way of it then? I thought you liked me more than that,” Jon utters, feigning seriousness.  

“You—stop it, it’s not like that!” Arya exclaims. She readies her fist, flings it, but it is caught midway by a much bigger one.

“You better not resist. You know what you owe me.” Jon jerks her toward him, trapping her in his arms. He rests his head on her shoulder and kisses her hair as he presses her body against his as tightly as he can without hurting her.

It seems all Arya was waiting for was permission, for she reciprocates by hanging on to him as if they were having an ending instead of a beginning. She winds her arms about his neck, and an irrational fear incites her to whisper fiercely in his ear, “I missed everyone but I missed you the most. I missed you so _fucking_ much. Do you have any idea of what it was like, Jon Snow?”

 “I do,” he sighs. _I swear I do._ They might be shedding tears, he is not sure; gusts of warmth blowing from the depths of his body have him at ease.

 _She is_ real _._

 _She is_ alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, another one for the team. It's post season 6 AU sort of. Cook it the way it tastes best to you.  
> I'm turning this into a series cause I suck at long fics. Maybe smut next time? Idk. I'll do my best.  
> Do we have a Jon/Arya week? Or tumblr blogs? Anything? Don't let me dieeee.


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